Page 21 of The Vampire's Thirst
“Bite me? And no more tying each other to beds.” Her fists popped to her hips.
Dax’s gaze tagged her neck. “I’m okay with no binding, but I need blood to survive.”
“How often?”
“Daily.”
“I’m not a two-legged blood bank. What about sucking on a nice rabbit?”
“I don’t do furry animals.”
“A snake then. No fur.”
He smirked, his hungry eyes far too intense.
“You’ve had your snack today. Focus. What happens if you don’t get your daily donation?”
He brushed a hand through his hair, only drawing attention to his high cheekbones, stubbled chin, and flexed bicep. “I’ll weaken, but before that happens, I’ll go blood-crazed and attack. Trust me. You don’t want that to happen.”
“Just go back where you came from to get your blood shake. Leave me alone.”
Dax waved his wrist, the wound no more than an angry scar now. “Can’t.”
Chiara began to pace. “Witch walking here,” she said, raising a cautioning hand when he took a step in her direction. “What if I bottle some of my O-pos for you? You can drink me from a glass jar.”
A feral grin tugged at his lips. “Where’s the pleasure in that?”
“Exactly. That’s our compromise. You slurp me from a container. Once you heal, you’re out of here even if you can’t return home. Now. What’s next? Where did you come from? How will you get back?”
Chiara sidestepped Dax to walk into the living room where she slumped into her most comfortable chair.
“You’re a witch, but you really don’t know about us?” he asked.
Two hundred and fifty pounds of bare-chested gorgeous but dangerous man leaned against the doorframe, his hair hanging mid-back. Without the feral gaze or cruel sneer, he resembled the hero of her dreams. She would have to be careful, though, because he wasn’t a fantasy. He was real. He was deadly. It occurred to her she may have glorified him in her dreams. Maybe his heroism had worn off over the years.
“What us?” asked Chiara.
“Scath. Aeternals.”
“Not a clue.”
“I gotta shower first.”
She pointed toward her bedroom. “Sure, but then answers. There’s a bathroom through there. The towels are clean.”
Chiara listened to the water while she pictured a naked Dax with water sluicing down his shoulders, his arms, his hips, his thighs. What had she gotten herself involved in? He wasn’t what she remembered.
Stop fixating on a fairytale.
She was so busy fantasizing, she did not hear Dax slip into the room. Startled, she realized he was wrapped in nothing but a towel, shaking his head, sending water flying.
Holy shit.He isn’t a fairytale, but he’s a man built for dreams.
“You’re not dressed,” said Chiara.
“I have no shirt. My pants are dirty and torn.”
“Where are they?”
